Snippet #1476218

[He be singin' this and with that same voice.]

Time is everything to a cook, yet nothing to Morwen. He will defy time, the elements and the gods themselves to perfect every single meal he has to offer to the students. For you see, he's simply the culinary professor and often chef at the university. Nothing prestigious. No high rank, not even enough power to boss around common staff. Oh but Morwen is a happy fellow. For he knows that he can manipulate the staff, or simply choose not to. It's up to him to offer all the proper nutrients should anyone need them. While such balance is often or not in his webbed hands the siren has never found reason to deplete the students of anything. He's been with this school for only a year. Surely they have no problem with his cooking, he's still here isn't he? Yes. Just the simple, humble head cook.

"Inside this fantasy, it seems so real to me...synthetic ecstasy when her legs are open. True life behind a wall...where men and angels fall, a fading memory when my mind is frozen." his melodious voice, currently set into a soft masculine tone, peels through the galley. It rouses his underling cooks to move as one with their current tasks. Bodies swaying, limbs rolling, very much like the waves of the sea as their head cook sings, "I can see a frozen point in time, where her figure still awaits. Tongue of fire tracing lips outline where frozen breath originates...with one motion of her wanting eyes she strips everything away...this one moment is intensified and the colors all fade to grey!" Morwen's own sublime figure is swaying, donned in the usual skin tight leather outfit. Only today he's accented with a red cowl which also decorates his hair, weaving it behind himself and dotting it with pearls. Dangling from his finned ears is a pair of lovely earrings. Each pearl adorning his pale, lean body is a product of his own. Simply because he wants to wear nothing but the best. Along with everything else is a favored shell pendant resting against his collarbone. Stirring the pot to be sure a fiber stuffed breakfast runs smoothly, Morwen adds a dash of cocoa powder to make the rich oatmeal just a bit more sweeter. Plus the sugar will give the students a boost, while it's fiber will stave off hunger until around lunch time. With a white body apron around his supple self the male is sure his counters are clean and cleared. Cleanliness is next to godliness.

"I am in the only place that I want to be...though we know that it ends eventually, but it's alright because right now we're frozen...I want to forget mistakes they've helped me make. It's better to be broken than to break." seizing a nearby cook he dances with the girl. Aside from having a sultry voice, Morwen's thick siren blood will exude an amaranth of charm from his body. It's his silent serenade to swing and dip his hips, arching gracefully as the female swoons in his arms, but gets right back to work once he ceases contact, thus breaking his lurid hold on her. He's certain students will want their meals before class. As it were today is not one of his days to be teaching so he's happy just to be in the kitchen, waiting.

~~~

As the sea lurches and rolls her thick, ample body she stares with a wide eye at the splash of a man with a rope around himself shattering through the surface. This is what she and the other predators have been waiting for. Now to claim the prize. Not only is the sailor going to be terrified of the storm, he will also have the amplified stress of stone hearted monsters fighting for his flesh and life's wine; blood. Morgan can never forget the taste of blood in the water. Then again she's all for blood play. How erotic, exquisite, is it, to entrust someone with the very thing that supports your function and prolonging years? Vice versa implied. Which is why she lashes her muscular tail out to stun a nearby shark, four others go towards the man. The prospect of a free meal is all but too great out in the sea. Morgan clucks her gills in warning, adding on a horrifying screech underwater that freezes the sharks. They drift down a few meters as the siren-mermaid lashes her tail, inky hair coiling behind her as she darts forth, a barracuda, towards the doomed sailor.

What she takes note of first is the rope around him. This won't do at all. Morgan's eye becomes akin to a glass doll's; lifeless, without spirit. Rows of mangled teeth protrude from her mouth as her jaw extends and broadens a few inches. Using a shark's mouth she saws at the rope. Certainly using her sword would be better, but biting it in half is much more fun and drastic. The sailor yelps underwater and flings to the surface, calling for help. Morgan circles him a few feet below his kicking legs. On her ermine white hands her nails harden into claws, elongating. Muscles contracting and tail scrunching for leverage, Morgan lashes her arms through the thick aqua to hook her claws into both achilles tendons. The sailor's scream is cut short as he forever disappears from the surface, never to reach air again or The Dancing Widow.

Licking the shredded sinews from her hands and teeth the monstrosity swirls merrily far below the ship, avoiding the storm further. What little is left of the sailor is being torn up by the local sharks in the depths. Morgan can easily devour five full grown men on her lonesome. That first sailor was just an appetizer.

The memory encouraged her to dance through a song playing in her dance studio. Gluttony isn't uncommon in any living creature or monster for that matter. Merfolk have always been gifted with bottomless bellies, or at least the breed of merfolk Morgan's mother was. She only knows of one other with the same insatiable traits such as her own. Her twin, Morwen. Perhaps she'll go down to the kitchen for a snack. In her black leotard she changed out of it in the dressing room, instead pulling on a pair of black slacks with a open shoulder top. Morgan of course refuses to wear shoes, it'd upset her webbed toes and sensitive calf fins. Stepping out of her studio on the third level of the building she glances out of a window, seeing a new student plodding along, trudging to his death. What a glum little puppy. She can smell that lupine musk clear from the open window she peers from. Also seeing a girl down in the courtyard on a bench she hopes the two will speak, perhaps the girl could speak with the boy. For now Morgan watches the pups down below.